


Time's Hammer

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: She was about to break the time stream. Not just break it, but take a bloody hammer to it.SS/HG HEA...always :)





	1. Chapter 1

He'd said he'd been drinking alone in the Crooked Wand, a dive of a pub just off Knockturn Alley. His birthday. Twenty years old.

* * *

_"_ _Pissed off. Bitter. So bitter, Miss Granger."_

_The portrait let out a long sigh and a pale and slender finger drew a line across the bow of his upper lip. His endlessly dark eyes stared out from canvas and a plain, gold frame. Bleak. Lost._

_Hermione's heart squeezed. Such a wasted life. Brilliance and power, twisted and corrupted, shunned and hated._

_"_ _That moment…"_

_His rich voice was velvet soft, the prick of old pain forcing her to bite her cheek to deny tears._

_"_ _They sought me out—drunk and belligerent—to tell me." His eyes closed, the fan of his dark lashes a curve against his sharp cheekbones. "To drive in the spike…and I…idiot!" He lashed out the word and swept up from his painted chair in a billow of black wool. He turned, pacing before the library of his books._

_"_ _Idiot…"_

_The word was a raw whisper now._

_"_ _I took the dark mark that night, thick with drink and anger and pain." Another long breath escaped him. "If I could make it right." He shook his head. "What would the world we have now be like? Who would still be with us…?" A twitch of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "And perhaps I…I would not be looking out onto this new world with painted eyes."_

* * *

Had Severus Snape known she still had a time-turner? Why else would such a notoriously private man share his past with her, a returning Eighth Year Hogwarts' pupil? Oil and canvas he might have been, but he was still the ultimate Slytherin.

The sneaky git.

Hermione bit her lip, fighting a smile of surprising affection and pushed open the heavy door to the Crooked Wand.

* * *

Guess who's having a stab at playing with time...?


	2. Chapter 2

The reek of stale beer, body odour and wet wood smacked Hermione in face and she tried not to grimace. The Crooked Wand was a single long and low-ceiling'd room, patchy brick covered in soot-blackened plaster with a long bar counter running its length. Candles flickered shadows, drawing over scarred faces hunched over tables, or nursing drinks on a stool at the counter.

Golden light caught on one face. Her breath stopped. Yes, she'd know that blade of a pale nose anywhere.

Hermione was aware of eyes on her as she closed the gap between her and the empty stool beside the young Severus Snape. She tossed five knuts onto the grimy counter and the barman scooped them up in the blink of an eye. "A glass and a _sealed_ quarter bottle of Ogden's Rare."

Beside her Snape huffed. "Wise move."

There was no hint of drunkenness to his smooth voice—not yet anyway. But then, even if the dive was heavy with shadows, it was still only two in the afternoon. And her heart gave a little twist to hear his living voice, not one with the echo of a metal frame behind it.

"I have trust issues."

Another huff and there was a hint of amusement buried in it.

This was Severus Snape before Voldemort—and Dumbledore—got their claws into him. A Snape lightened just a touch by the bottle of whiskey at his elbow.

The barman pushed the tumbler and slender bottle of Ogden's Rare in front of her. A turn of her finger over the rim of the glass chased a cleaning spell over it. There was no hint of green that would mark any illicit potions or spells. The same went for the bottle. She'd lived through a war and come out the other end. She was not taking a chance now.

Her wand dropped ice into the glass and she poured a slug of the fortified wine over it, the warmth of summer, of light and heat cutting through the sour stink of the rest of the pub. She drew in a breath and sipped, letting that divine warmth ease through her.

With a smirk, she put out her hand to Snape. "Hermione."

He arched an eyebrow and her chest gave another of those little squeezes. In the softened candlelight, he was pale, but less lined, less careworn and Merlin help her, she wanted to keep him that way.

The hole the now useless time-turner had burned into the cobbles in a dark corner of Diagon Alley screamed it. There was no going back to her time. To that time with so many…lost. Not a chance.

"No issues there?" Snape looked to her bare hand. "The touch of a stranger?"

"You're not a stranger if you tell me your name."

His dark eyes narrowed, a familiar line forming between his brows and the itch was there in her fingers to smooth it away.

"Fine." She turned back to her drink, absently swirling the ice to let it clink. "I'll call you…Rogue."

Snape stared at her. "You will do no such thing." It was a low growl that pricked her skin and reminded her of her less than…altruistic reasons for throwing herself back into the past for this wizard. His lips pressed together. "Severus."

Hermione put out her hand again. "Pleased to meet you…Severus."

His warm, dry hand enveloped hers and the spark of pleasure almost stole her breath. She'd never touched him. The flash of blood and his torn flesh and her futile attempts to close his gaping wound rocked through her. No. That was a false future. She'd make sure of it.

"Why are you here, Hermione?"

She blinked at his question and eased her fingers free to find her drink again. The words…and his first use of her name—ever—caught her. She let the warmth of the alcohol flow into her tightened flesh. There was yet more suspicion in his tone. But then who voluntarily said hello and shook hands with the pariah Severus Snape?

She leant in and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm escaping. Sort of. Perhaps." She shook her head and told the almost truth. Mainly about the reason she'd returned to Hogwarts to complete her NEWTs. "A wizard I thought I liked turned out to be a bit of a shit. We—well, _I_ thought—we had an…understanding. Turns out I didn't have it with his brain, his heart or…other even less loyal parts of him."

Snape frowned. Something moved through his gold-lit black gaze. "He cheated on you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've come to realise I'm better off without him."

"Yet…" Snape flicked his hand at her and her bottle. "Here you are."

"Friends think I should take him back."

She snorted. That was true too. Harry and Ginny and a gaggle of Weasleys kept harping on about Ron being young and needing to break out. If she would only wait for him—

And why the fuck should she? That curl of anger was back in her chest and she breathed past it. They'd hardly give the same advice to _Ron_ if she ran off to bed every handsome wizard that crossed her path...

But…it was a moot point. As she sat in the filthy pub with one very alive Severus Snape, Ron was still two months away from being born. And wasn't that a strange and disturbing thought?

"Don't."

There was a bitter cut to that single word. She wondered again what the truth was to his relationship with Lily Evans, but put it from her mind. She smirked at him and lifted her glass. "Oh, I have no intention of ever being with him _ever_ again. He and I? So over."

"Wisdom in one so young…"

Hermione spluttered over her glass. "We're the same age."

He gave her the eyebrow arch that she wanted to trace with her fingertips. "Are we?"

Her belly twisted. He couldn't know. He _couldn't know_ she'd come from the future…that somewhere out there in the world was a Hermione Granger who'd just started on solid food. "I'm nineteen."

"Ah, then _yesterday_ we were the same age."

That twitch of smugness warmed through her as quickly as the drink in her hand. Her want of him really was quite hopeless. But it was something she'd been fighting since Sixth Year. An awareness of Snape as…as a _man_.

"Then…Happy Birthday." And she clinked her glass to his and took a sip.

Snape blinked and gulped down a mouthful of firewhiskey. A trickle of magical flame burned harmlessly against his lips. "You…didn't go to Hogwarts."

It came out as a rushed statement. No, he was not yet cool and closed off, the consummate spy who moved with ease through any situation. There was still the touch of gauche to him. It was rather sweet.

She almost growled at herself. Her…needs could wait.

"No. Taught at home by controlling parents." She frowned, hating the outright lie, but she couldn't claim schooling elsewhere by her accent, or her inability to speak anything other than English. "Not fun."

"I imagine not," he murmured. Was he caught in thoughts of his own hideous childhood? Fuck, she didn't want him to wallow—

Her belly growled. Shit, when had she last eaten? "Can I risk eating here?"

Snape shook his head. "No." His lips pinched together…and he seemed to close in on himself, his fingers wrapping around his glass till the knuckles showed white. "It's not safe."

"Would you," Hermione's teeth tugged at her upper lip, nerves coiling in her belly. She was about to break the time stream. Not just break it, but take a fucking hammer to it, "would you know where's a safe place? I mean, I wandered in here." She snorted and was pleased at the answering twitch to his mouth, "I'm obviously not the best judge." She lifted her glass to toast him. "Wizards though. I'm a good judge of them."

"Bar one."

Hermione frowned. "Oh… _him_. Yes, I'll blame…youthful infatuation on that mess. So…come with me? I'm in the mood for stodge. Something deliciously unhealthy."

Snape was staring at her. Something moved in his eyes. Distrust yes, but also…hope. The lonely need for someone to chose _him_. Her heart squeezed. And oh yes, she was most definitely choosing him.

"You want…?"

"My treat."

His mouth pulled down. "I can perfectly well afford—"

"Cake then. Birthday cake." She leant in, her head spinning slightly from the hit of wine on an empty stomach. Yes, eating was a very good idea. "After the stodge, I'll spring for a cake." His scent, hints of potion ingredients and the warmth of sandalwood filled her senses. Was he already a potions apprentice? "I…don't know anyone here, and well, you've been decent…"

"A _bribe_?"

She smirked at him. "Oh, yes."

Snape drew in a long breath and slapped the cork into his whiskey bottle. "There'd better be candles."

Hermione barked a laugh and gloried in the shine of amusement in his eyes. "All the candles you can handle."

He winced. "Really?"

She shrugged and stoppered her own bottle, shrank it and slipped it into her pocket. "So, where's good?"

"The Bow-Legged Witch on Diagon Alley's Third Ginnel."

She looked at him from under her brows. " _Really?_ "

He smirked. "Monstrously unhealthy…and delicious."

Her belly thrummed at his utterance of _that_ word, in _that_ voice. Fuck. And oh, yes please. "Lead on." She climbed down from her stool and waved her hand towards the door.

There was a tension in the set of his shoulders, his wand hand flexing as he stalked ahead of her. The old need obviously still thick in his bones for him to distrust _anyone_ at his back.

He pulled back the door and chilled air swept around them, the stink of wet stone and rubbish mixing with the reek of the pub. Yes, somewhere less foul would be most welcome.

Were there such things as magical ticks? Because she was about to bury herself…deep.

And most importantly, James Potter and Sirius Black would _not_ find him alone and vulnerable in the Crooked Wand.


	3. Chapter 3

Diagon Alley was a mass of noise and people, shop fronts unscarred, clean of the strafe of wizard fire and the pall of death and curses. In the early days of 1980, Voldemort was still a looming threat, but he'd not yet pulled his forces together to begin his full reign of terror.

And he didn't have Severus Snape.

The tight knot in Hermione's chest said he would _never_ have him.

Her plans were in place.

After all, who was Hermione Jean Granger if she didn't have a vast, cross-checked and colour-coded chart splashed with felix felicis and tied up in a neat bow by advanced arithmancy? Oh, and the sheer, bare-faced Gryffindor cheek to see it through.

A sneering blond wizard cut his way through a knot of cackling witches and before Hermione realised, she was pulled hard up against Snape's chest. They lurched back against a crumbling brick wall, fell into the overhanging shadow of Flourish and Blotts casements and she simply…breathed. The rich scent of magical books and Snape's own wanted aroma of skin and herbs drummed her heart. The warmth of his hands on her arms, of his solid chest at her back. He…surrounded her. And the familiar—and all-too-forbidden—ache low in her belly twisted tight.

"Be careful."

Snape's words were a sinful whisper against the shell of her ear and she held back a quick shiver.

"You've chosen to break free at a dangerous time, Hermione. That is Lord Abraxas Malfoy. A wizard never to be crossed."

Hermione watched the tall man, his silvered robes and long blond hair stark in the dimming winter light, stride towards the towering bulk of Gringotts bank. Draco's grandfather. Alive and dragon pox free, it seemed.

"Because he's one of the Sacred Twenty Eight?"

Snape huffed a sour laugh and Hermione's eyes fluttered shut at the brush of warm air over her skin. She really was a lost cause for this wizard.

"Because of the…company he keeps. Dark magic is growing all around us, gaining strength, becoming vast…"

There was something in his voice and it reminded her of the beginning of her Sixth Year. Of the same wizard's speech as he spoke of the Dark Arts as… _varied, ever-changing and eternal_. His interest in the dark, the draw of it for him. And another way that Tom Riddle could get his sharp nails into Severus Snape.

"Are you…dark, Severus?"

Hermione kept her question quiet and simple, even as her heart drummed. The game she played, of pushing just enough to save him was stretching her every nerve.

He stilled. His long fingers flexed against her arms, but he didn't release her. Didn't shove her away. Was that a hope to cling to? Or reason to believe that—even without the Mark on his left forearm—he was already lost to her.

"I…admit to being drawn to dark, to its power, to the unlimited knowledge it holds within itself." He was silent for a long moment and Hermione fought to keep her lips pressed together, not to babble on to convince him of the dangers he'd embrace. Another sour breath escaped him, caught with a bitter laugh. "And to look at me, am I not the very image of a dark wizard?"

"No. Not at all."

She pulled free of his hands and stared up at his sallow face, at dark hair lank from too many hours over a cauldron, over a nose that would make a Roman emperor proud. But his eyes, his mouth, his hands, his voice, his courage and loyalty, his mind…beautiful. So beautiful to her. They'd held her. Had driven her back two decades to save him.

"Lord Malfoy could be considered one. And was he not dripping with prettiness?" She frowned down the street to the entrance of Gringotts. "I bet you all the gold in that bank that's a lightening charm on his hair."

"Applied at birth to every Malfoy?"

She smirked back at him, pleased to see the sour edge leave his face. "Would you put it past them?"

Snape's lips twitched upwards and she echoed them. He shook his head. "No, no I wouldn't."

Her belly helpfully growled again and she slipped her arm through his. He stared down at her in surprise and she grinned up at him. "For my safety," she said. "Now, I need to be fed." She squeezed his biceps, finding it nicely hard under her fingers. "Before I…eat you."

A bright line of pink topped Snape's cheeks and Hermione fought the heat in her own face. Had she meant that undercurrent of innuendo? Very probably. It was best that Severus Snape be introduced to the idea that she planned to have him. A young and vigorous wizard, with careful hands, an eye for detail and a voice layered in sin. What better introduction to the art of sex for an eager and willing witch?

She lifted an eyebrow and Snape blinked at her. Twice. He drew in a long breath. "It's this way."

Hermione's grin only grew as he didn't pull free of her firm hold.


	4. Chapter 4

The Bow-Legged Witch was a pub in the same style as the Crooked Wand. A single room with low, wooden beams and a long bar. There the similarities ended. It was clean and warm with enough candlelight to be welcoming. It was also quite full. Bursting with patrons, in fact...

The heavy aromas of roasting meat attacked Hermione's stomach and made the resulting growl almost fearsome.

Snape smirked at her. "Will you need a whole pig to yourself?"

"Yes, yes I will. Possibly two."

As he closed over the door, the last of the street-grit whirled at their feet from the brisk winter wind chasing down the brightly lit Third Ginnel. Hermione had never ventured out beyond the main and familiar shops of the Alley itself. Had this place closed down with the rise of Voldemort?

A crone of a witch, all bent and twisted and wrapped up in black wool, bustled up to them. Her wand flicked away the grey dust dirtying her pristine tiles. She peered up at Snape and her eyes were unexpectedly warm. Her bird-bright gaze flicked to Hermione and back to him. "A table for two, young Severus?"

"Thank you, Madam Randall, yes."

"It's been an age since I last set eyes on you." She frowned. "You've lost weight." She waved a gnarled hand, beckoning them to follow her through the regimented tables. "I'll stick a good dinner to your ribs."

Hermione didn't doubt it. Roast duck and ham and beef, steaming vegetables, piled bacon and sausage butties, and cake, so much cake filled the tables they passed and had Hermione's stomach in full rebellion.

"She always insists on trying to feed me up," Snape murmured. "I eat well enough."

Had the old witch despaired at the almost-wraith the older Snape had become as Headmaster? Was she there to care?

"It all looks lovely." Hermione grinned it him. "I wouldn't resist."

"Say that after she tries to force the third helping on you."

A gimlet eye found Snape and a sharp line of pink cut across his cheeks. "And you don't say no to it, Severus Snape." Madam Randall wagged her finger at him before she looked to Hermione. "It's the game we play…"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Hermione," the witch said with a nod. "I ply his bottomless pit of a belly with food and he pretends he doesn't enjoy every mouthful." A dark eyebrow arched and Hermione wondered if there was some blood relation between the two of them. The curve was too familiar. "Isn't that so, Severus, hmm?"

A soft smile, something barely there on his lips, appeared before he gave her a nod. "I concede."

"As you should. Now."

A little table with two chairs was tucked into a bowed window looking out onto the Third Ginnel. Witches and wizards strode past, huddled against the cold and the warm shop front of a magical emporium shone out golden into the gathering shadows.

"The special today is roast duck with all the trimmings."

"That sounds perfect." Hermione looked to Severus. "Doesn't it?"

He nodded. "Twice, over, please. And water for the table."

Madam Randall's nodded, a slow smile pulling at her mouth. Could she smell the hint of the brewery about them both?

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Madam Randall, I got Severus here with the bribe of cake. A birthday cake. With candles. Is it possible…?"

"Argh, of course, the 9th of January. My brain is addled. Of course." The old witch grabbed Snape's startled face with her gnarled hands and smacked a kiss onto his forehead. "Happy birthday, lovely boy. And yes, cake for pudding."

And with that, she bustled off as Severus wiped his skin free of her kiss, his face quite, quite pink. "She's my grandmother's cousin." He fiddled with his napkin, unable it seemed to look at Hermione. "I should've…"

Hermione reached across the table and pressed her hand over his twitching fingers. They stilled under her touch. Warm and strong, but with a riveting delicacy. "She cares for you. And older relatives _live_ to embarrass us."

Snape huffed a laugh. "She certainly does that."

His gaze flicked up, endless, black eyes warm and…and open. Hermione's belly clenched. He was beginning to trust her. And even as it rushed joy through her veins, the panic was there like a hot ache under her heart. He would learn who she was and why she was almost twenty years in the past, the lies she was weaving already. Would that break him? Worse break him away from _her_?

She twitched a smile and pulled her hand back. Her stomach growled and she broke open one of the little bread buns already in a pot on the table.

"You'll spoil your meal…"

"You're her favourite…what? First cousin, twice removed? I'm sure we can run off with anything spare."

Snape narrowed his eyes on her, and still had them narrowed as a young wizard swept towards them with two platters of duck layered with every winter vegetable and a jug of water ringed with lemon and mint.

Hermione fell on her food with an appetite worthy of Ron. She'd been so caught up in setting her plans into motion, of fixing her life in 1980 that regular meals had slipped away.

"You can breathe in between mouthfuls, you know."

Snape's low words froze her and she swallowed. _Fuck_ … How to impress your wizard: act like a Weasley. "Sorry. I've been…" She lay her cutlery across her half-cleared plate and picked up her glass of water. "I've been caught up in the final part of sitting my NEWTs, finding a flat —I moved into a rather nice little set of rooms above the magical junkshop just up from the Leaky Cauldron last night— and working out…life plans, I suppose." She raised her glass to him. "Eating is —what, fourth?— on the list."

Snape wrapped a _muffliato_ tight around their table and she frowned, as much because there was no hissing to the spell. Something he'd worked out after Sixth Year to perfect it?

"No one can hear us," he murmured. "It's just that…you must be careful, Hermione. People are…vanishing. Those who are too outspoken about the changing times, or those who simply have the wrong parents, the wrong face, the wrong line of magic."

He lifted his hand to silence her as her mouth opened to argue the half-blood status she'd set up for herself.

"I don't want to know your family history. It doesn't matter to me. My own blood," he shrugged and something moved over his features and for a moment, the old and bitter Snape lurked there, "the less said the better. But you might want to consider, after your NEWTs, heading over to the Continent." He took a sip of his water. "I've always been drawn to Toledo, myself."

Hermione picked up her knife and fork again. "So your plan is to go there?"

"I have an apprenticeship here. One I'd be a fool to break." He straightened his shoulders. "I'm bound to Master Theodore Begbie."

And well he could look smug. Her jaw had dropped when her research had put that name before her. Begbie was a giant amongst potioneers, a wizard who did not take on apprentices. It had only solidified her plans. What had the Dark Lord –and Dumbledore— robbed from their world by cloistering this wizard away to push the making of a Boil Cure into thick-headed children?

"Impressive."

"Some Masters scour NEWT results like gulls after a fishing smack."

Hermione snorted. "Are you comparing yourself to fish guts?"

"Perhaps…" He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "It could draw a Master to you too."

She gave him a snippy smile. "Perhaps…"

Snape grinned and the bliss, the ease of it swelled through her. This was the Snape she wanted to keep. _Would keep_. "Thank you for the advice, Severus. I will be careful. And…hope that I catch the eye of a decent Arithmancer." She had her preferred list and the letters written asking for an apprenticeship, ready to be sent out when her results were known. But if Masters did trawl through the results it would save her time.

He broke the _muffliato_ and they spent time eating and discussing her interest in Arithmancy. The pleasure of it pricked guilt. How none of her friends in her old life had ever held more than a second of interest in what interested _her_. Whilst she was expected to drown in the joy of quidditch.

Well, with their Voldemort-free future, Ron and Harry and Ginny could bask in their love of all things quidditch…and she, as a generation removed, would not have to share that rapture.

Would she even be friends with the Potters or the Weasleys? That was another itch in the back of her mind. But…Harry could be whoever he liked. Whoever he wanted to be. Or didn't. It was _his_ choice…and not one dictated by a snake-faced bastard or a manipulative old coot. That was the gift she was giving him…as she took her own prize.

"Here."

Madam Randall broke into their heated debate about Stephanus of Alexandria, grinning as her magic cleared their dishes and she set the small, white-iced cake in the centre of the table. Plates, forks and a large cake knife followed. Another flick of her wand lit seven candles.

Golden light gleamed over Snape's pale skin and formed molten drops in his dark eyes. His cheeks were again pink, but he was fighting back a smile. "Thank you, Madam Randall." Those mesmerising eyes held her. "Hermione…"

His voice was velvet and her skin pricked, the chase of pleasure down her spine causing her to shift on the soft padding of the chair. Damn him. Was he aware yet of the sultry power of his voice?

"I won't sing." Madam Randall patted Snape's shoulder. "No one deserves that on their birthday, but know that I wish you a fine future. Happy birthday, lovely boy." Her gnarled fingers squeezed his. Sharp eyes fell on Hermione. Keen. _Knowing_. "A bright future."

Hermione stilled, then forced a smile. Did this fearsome old witch know…? No, no she was being paranoid. Madam Randall was giving her blessings –of sorts— to a witch she supposed was Snape's…girlfriend.

That connection still sounded strange in her head. Even as she planned for it. And for it to be _very_ permanent.

"Make a wish."

Snape's dark eyes held hers and Hermione's breath caught. Yes, she'd throw the wizarding world away in a bucket just to keep that blissful shine of amusement and warmth in this wizard's eyes. She wouldn't. But she could…

In one breath, the candles were out and with another "Happy Birthday" Madam Randall bustled off. Snape teased out the candles and picked up the knife. The blade gleamed. "Half each?"

Hermione snorted. "I am not a complete glutton." His eyebrow lifted and she narrowed her eyes on him. "Says the wizard whose dinner plate was _spotless_."

"This much?" And he demonstrated his skill with a knife as two small pieces neatly found their plates.

"This is…" She wagged her fork at him, lost to the sweet softness of the cake. "Can Madam Randall adopt me? I don't make much mess and I promise not to complain about thirds."

Snape broke into laughter…but Hermione couldn't enjoy the rich, infectious sound.

Two men stood in the open doorway and her chest bloomed in panic. She'd recognise that wild scuff of black hair anywhere. Passed to Harry from his father. And besides James Potter, Sirius Black, younger, undeniably handsome…and didn't he know it. He was posed in the doorway for maximum viewing. Idiot.

They brought their news with them. News with which to taunt Snape.

James Potter's eyes narrowed and he elbowed Sirius. They'd been spotted.

The delicious cake soured to ashes in Hermione's mouth. Would they…would they drive him towards taking the Mark? Would her timeline, for all her planning and scheming and sacrifice, would it fall the way it always had, after all?


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, Snivellus, under the Imperius curse is she? I'll have to drag you down to the Ministry."

_Sirius fucking Black_. Anger and hatred and panic churned over in Severus' belly in a violent rush. He breathed, fighting the urge to lash out, to turn his wand on the bastard…because he was in his favourite witch's pub…and because he was sharing his birthday with a pretty little witch who seemed more than ready to like him.

No, he would not give any of this up and allow his temper to ruin it.

_Not again_.

Hermione had flicked a glance up at the Mutt and she lifted an eyebrow in a scary impression of himself. "Can we help you?"

"We're here for Snivellus."

James Potter, still the swaggering arsehole even two years out of school, lurched forward. Firewhiskey fumes practically belched from him. Already, Madam Randall had her gimlet eye on their table. And nobody caused trouble in her establishment.

Fuck, if they'd found him in the Crooked Wand, the hexes would've already been flying. With no one there to stop them or him, or to take _his_ side.

Hermione, still with that scarily similar eyebrow lift, broke into his thoughts. "If you mean Severus, then he is not here for you. Now, kindly…fuck off."

Severus snorted. Yes, this strange girl was a wild little thing. So correctly spoken…until she wasn't.

"Getting a girl to defend you, _again_ , Snivellus?"

Potter twisted a knife under his most bitter memory. But it had been five years. _Five_. And he had nothing to prove to these…men. Nothing at all. Small fingers threaded through his, warm and gentle and the realisation that it was him…and someone else, someone supporting him, with him, a clever and lovely witch who'd bought him a cake for his fucking birthday…

A crack of bitterness fell away. He didn't give two shits for these wizards. Or what they said to him. As Hermione had already so aptly put it, they could kindly…fuck off. He looked to swaying Sirius Black. It was time to play. "Would you like some cake?"

James Potter blinked at him and the Mutt's mouth fell open in the most delightfully stunned way.

Severus looked to Hermione. "Would you mind if I shared some of this, Hermione?"

He kept his voice light and pleasant and there was a gleam in her dark eyes. A spark of shared devilment. Oh, he did like this witch.

"I thought we might keep some for…later, but," she gave a shrug and put her other hand over his, "I meant it for you, Severus. It's yours to do with as you wish."

The Mutt was choking. Yes, _no one_ had missed that pause before 'later'. And in that moment, Severus wanted to hoard his cake and only share it with her. Just her. In a bed. Licking its chocolate and icing from her deliciously naked belly.

Fuck, he was hard.

" _Later_ , witch?"

Severus was well aware of the power of his voice, its dark beauty, so at odds with the scarecrow rest of him. That little rapid pulse at the base of her throat and the glow to her cheeks wasn't his imagination. Her interest was real. His pulse drummed.

He couldn't deny the curl of a smile. "How much later?"

Fuck, Snape was propositioning her in front of Harry's dad and a very much alive Sirius Black. Hermione swallowed, her inexperience rising up to bite her. _Fuck_. She wet her lips and his hot, black gaze narrowed there, making her lips burn.

These drunk and swaggering wizards had news that would drive Severus Snape to take the Mark. News that would break him. And something, maybe the felix felicis had stayed her hand, let the meeting happen. It was right. It was…necessary.

But no, she would not allow this event to push him towards that loathed Dark Mark. Not going to happen. Fuck it all, she was a Gryffindor. No subtly. None. She was taking a hammer to time. So, she yanked her courage around herself and put two fingers up to her innocence.

She leant forward. "How about…now?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Sirius lurched back against a bare patch of wall and caught his fingers in his hair. "I am not witness to fucking _Severus Snape_ about to _get laid_."

"True," Hermione tightened her hold on Severus' hand in case that word created _any_ doubt, " _you_ are not invited. As I said before. Fuck off."

"Lily is pregnant."

Severus stilled, as if James Potter had petrified him. Hermione stopped herself from closing her eyes. She couldn't —not yet— reveal how much she knew of his past. Of the living and growing proof that the woman he…he _loved_ had willingly slept with his most hated enemy.

" _Pregnant_." James sneered the word and Hermione had to wonder how Harry would grow up with such an immature arsehole as his role model. Well, he hadn't done too badly with the odious Vernon Dursley. She was certain he'd be fine.

"Congratulations…" Severus's voice was smooth and cool and his gaze shifted, " _Sirius_."

Wands flashed into drunken hands and a hard heartbeat later said wands jerked into the air and into the hard grip of Madam Randall. "I will have no one disturbing my customers. Out, the pair of you. Find a less respectable establishment —and less fine people— to harass." Her sharp eyes narrowed on Sirius. "And don't think as an Apprentice Auror you can throw your weight around, Sirius Black."

Sirius flushed and James was glaring at them. "Does your obviously desperate witch know what you are, Snivellus? Does she? A minion of _Him_. Your…Dark Lord." He spat on the stone floor and ground out, "Death-Eater!"

A heavy hand landed on James' shoulder and a wizard who obviously had giant blood in his family tree hauled the lead marauder off towards the door. Sirius was dragged along by the ripping collar of his leather jacket.

"Seven galleons for spitting on my floor, James Potter. Expect my bill!" Madam Randall called out as the half-giant threw both wizards into the winter-dark street. Their wands clattered after them. The door slammed back into place...and silence. No one said anything and Hermione felt the suspicious stares of too many wizards and witches.

How many had heard the charge against Severus?

Hermione's fingers teased along the white cuff of his left sleeve. "You are not one of them," she murmured. "There's no dark stain on you. And I'm a good judge of wizards." She twitched a smile. "With one exception."

"I have not…" His fingers tugged at the cuff of his coat.

"You don't need to prove this to me—"

He exposed the strong length of his forearm, pale and sinewy and so very clear of a Dark Mark. Tears pricked at her eyes and her throat was tight. She would keep it clear and clean. She would…and couldn't stop the light trail of her fingertip over his warm skin.

"That James Potter," Madam Randall flicked her wand, chasing a cleaning spell over the stones, "always such an odious little boy." She clucked at Snape. "Cover yourself over, Severus, nothing to see there…as there's nothing to see."

The murmur of voices broke again around the room as Madam Randall hobbled away and Hermione let out a long breath. She squeezed his hand. "Is our now still on?"

"I would like to go somewhere where there's not so many…watching." His voice was soft and there was an old pain lining it. And she felt…shitty for pushing for what she wanted from him. Time. She had time. So much of it. And all with him.

"No pressure, Severus. But…as I said, I do have a flat above the junkshop, by the Leaky Cauldron."

"Why?" He sank back into his chair and the old wood groaned. He stared at her and shook his head. "You don't know me. Not at all. I've just been accused of being a dark wizard…and in these times… And yet, you would invite me into your home. I… _Why?_ "

A thousand reasons swirled around in her mind, but she picked one, deliberately. Her face was burning as she said, "Because I fancy you something rotten."

Laughter broke from him and his whole face changed. He shone. "Poor, addled little witch." He caught his fingers in his hair. "Your flat. All right."

With a wave of his wand, he packed the rest of the cake into a box, including the candles, and stood. A moment later, he was pulling out her chair and helping her into her coat.

Yes, a solicitous Severus Snape was rather lovely.

He left payment and a tip on the table and Hermione added to it. The old witch had helped her to change history, after all.

Madam Randall swept Snape into a hug. "Careful how you go. Those boys are stupid enough to hang around."

"Thank you." He drew back and took her hand, bowed over it and pressed a light kiss to her gnarled fingers…making the old witch blush. He smirked at her as she slapped at his arm.

"And you," Madam Randall caught Hermione's arm, holding her back as Snape strode for the door. "Look after him. He is…very dear to me." She shook her head. "His future…" Her dark eyes shone with the brightness of tears. "Don't let him go, Hermione Granger. You…you can save us all."

Hermione stared and blinked. Panic was a hot rush through her chest. Great Merlin, what did this witch know?

"Time, my girl, leaves a mark for those with the eyes to see it."

"I…"

"The truth, it'll escape much sooner than you want it to."

And with that hurried and whispered exchange, the ancient witch swept back into her kitchen.

Damn the witch, she could've said how to disguise the mark!


	6. Chapter 6

Snape was silent on the way out of the Ginnel. Hermione threaded her arm through his, but he was stiff, wary and she was sure that he was palming his wand. Not that she wasn't doing the same thing. The last thing she wanted was a run in with a pair of idiotic and drunk wizards.

And Madam Randall's warning had her rattled. Who else would see she was a time-traveller…and question her? Question her right to do exactly what she was doing?

They paused at the entry way, yet to dive into the bustle of a late afternoon shopping rush on Diagon Alley. Her flat was only a few hundred yards up the street and her belly swooped, the nerves of what she wanted to happen and what _would_ pulling at her. And she wanted to ask Snape… _Severus_. Severus, if she planned to sleep with him…and oh yes, she did.

She wanted to ask Severus about James, about Sirius, about knowing that Lily —his Lily— was pregnant. A curl of anger and jealousy cut through Hermione's worry.

_Five years_. It'd been five years since he'd called her a name. Yes, a horrible name. And Hermione knew she'd have to give such _a friend_ time before she could be happy in their company again. But to cut him out of her life completely? Never to speak to him again? No, that spoke more of a ploy, an excuse to rid herself of an unpopular boy.

"It's just up here."

Hermione urged the silent wizard up the curve and twist of stone steps to the rickety, blue frontage of the junkshop. She let out a long breath. They'd made it with neither sight nor sound of Potter and Black. And for that she was thankful.

She waved her wand at a dark post and a swirl of rippling magic grew it into a bright red door. The doorknocker—a sharp-beaked gyphon head—clacked at her.

_"_ _Mr Quincey said nothing of male guests…"_

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Open up, Archibald."

The gryphon huffed and the bright door swung inwards. _"I don't like the look of him—"_

"And I don't like the look of you, you scrawny, featherless chicken head," Hermione snapped. She ushered Severus inside and glared at the pompous...chicken. Severus took to the stairs, still silent. Her heart was tight and she wanted nothing more than to pull him to her and offer warm comfort. But first…

She leant in to the knocker. "Listen closely. I will have you melted down and made into scrapers for the Hog's Head. People will scrape the shit from their boots on you. _Forever_. So…the less said about the people in my life the better. Are we in agreement?"

The gryphon spluttered and clacked. _"You can't…"_

Hermione lifted her wand and narrowed her gaze. "Are we in agreement?"

_"_ _My Quincey will charge you—"_

"I can well afford it." She lifted her eyebrow. "Your decision?"

_"_ _Silence. Complete and utter silence for you and your guests."_

"Thank you."

And with that she stepped through and shut the door. Magic sealed around the edges, shrinking the door to the outside world.

Hermione let out a long sigh, caught her fingers in her hair and for a moment, let her head fall back. She knew it wouldn't be easy. When in the benighted wizarding world was anything _easy_? But…

Her fingers fisted. No. She wouldn't berate herself.

_She'd_ pulled Severus Snape from the Crooked Wand.

_She'd_ been there when two raging idiots had carried on their old and mindless school grudge. There had been no obvious anger from Severus. Through the event there'd been a delicious amount of confusion and sarcasm…but no hexes.

And now _she_ had him in her cosy little flat. Safe. Protected.

_Her_.

She shoved down that little prick at the back of her mind about Madam Randall seeing time in her. That problem would be faced when she had to.

Padding up the stairs, the hum and splutter of her kettle echoed over the smooth walls. A smile tugged at her mouth. Yes, in times of crisis, make tea.

Severus stood at her little stove, staring out from a magical window that looked out onto the rambling greenery of the Victoria Embankment Gardens. Though it was full dark and yellow street lights washed away all hint of form and colour.

"Severus…?"

She kept her voice soft and closed her eyes as he stiffened under the light press of her hand against his back. She looked at him. His lips were tight, pinched and his eyes were closed. He breathed in and out. His hands gripped the porcelain skin, his knuckles sharp and bloodless. He was hanging by a thread.

She should, she supposed, take comfort in the fact that he wasn't raging, lashing out, angered and hurt…and storming off to bend his knee to a certain dark wizard. But she couldn't. He was in pain.

The kettle sputtered water and steam from its spout and gave a half-hearted whistle. "Remind me not to buy anything else from my landlord's shop. Tea?"

He jerked a nod and Hermione set about brewing too mugs.

"I shouldn't impose on you like this."

A panicked burst fired through her belly. He could _not_ leave. She forced a smile and offered him a mug. "I've enjoyed my time with you. I'd like it if you could be my friend."

" _Friend…_ " He bit out the word…and then groaned. With a twitch of his lips, he took the mug. "Those wizards." He shook his head. "It was probably best you avoided Hogwarts this past decade, Hermione. It was a…foul place."

"Come and sit down, the gardens look better by daylight, anyway."

She led the way to a springy, blue couch—one firmed and patched by her numerous spells—sank into it and patted the cushion beside her.

Severus perched on the edge of his seat, the mug cradled in his large hands between spread legs. His gaze fixed on the pale brown liquid. "She…was my friend. Lily. I thought there could be more…but," he shrugged, "I see myself in the mirror everyday. I _know_ what I look like." He slid her a dark, pained look and shook his head. "Don't deny it, Hermione. Compare _this_ face to Potter or Black, those two wizards. Potter had the looks, the money, the popularity…and I." He looked back to his tea. "There was no contest. None. And then, then…I did something _unforgiveable_."

Pain ebbed under this words and Hermione had the hard need to find Lily Potter and slap her—pregnant witch or not. How could she deny the worth of this man? How could she _still_ deny it? Years had passed. Hadn't Lily ever thought back on that moment at the lake and seen it from _his_ point of view? Not once? And everyone said she was a clever witch!

"Her family isn't magical, not at all. I…" He drew in a long breath. "I…called her a mudblood."

Severus seemed to shrink in on himself…as if expecting a blow and Hermione's throat tightened. Cow. Lily Potter was a cow. And Hermione would make certain she lived, simply to tell her that.

She slipped a hand to his knee and he flinched. She squeezed and leant in to him. "You said you were sorry?"

"I tried, Merlin knows, but she couldn't forgive or forget. She shouldn't…" His eyes closed and he breathed, silent as his shoulders rose and fell. "Potter took advantage of our falling out and pursued her." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Good looking, rich and popular? I don't think she put up much resistance."

A wince pulled at his cheek, as if he regretted that likely true statement.

"Know what I think, and I may be biased because I like you, but I think…she used it as an excuse."

Severus narrowed his eyes on her. "Excuse?"

"I imagine at school, you were clever? Prickly? _Not_ popular? And she…?"

"Beautiful…"

Hermione's chest tightened at the wistfulness wrapped around that single word. Yes, she knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was trying to untangle a love that would've eventually brought down a Dark Lord. "And you were what?"

"Fifteen, sixteen."

Hermione prayed to any deity listening as she said, "She was finding others were…interested. And at that age…the pressure of friends to only be seen with those who reflect well on you would be...fierce." She but her lip, her nerves strained. "A true friend, when they grew up, would've come back to you, Severus. In the hours that I've been here with you, even I can see that."

His continued silence ate away at her. Had she said too much? Would he now turn on her? Gods, Merlin and all his little demon friends—

"Are you sure you haven't escaped from the Janus Thickey ward?"

Hermione growled at him and slapped his knee, but there, there was a twitch of a smile on his lips and she gloried in it. "Drink your tea."

"Yes, miss…"

She snorted, a break of relieved laughter and leant against the hard, hot strength of his arm. A long sigh followed. "And just so you know, I prefer your face to theirs."

"Addled little witch."

"Quite possibly."

A smile escaped him, quick and disbelieving. He shook his head. "I…" His long fingers threaded over hers, curving them against his knee. "Today has been a revelation."

"Mostly a good one?"

His dark gaze slid to her, his eyes warm and so very beautiful. "You are the best thing about it."

"I'm going to kiss you. Just as a warning. Say no now, otherwise prepare yourself."

Severus broke out in a bark of laughter. He put his mug on the low coffee table next to hers and straightened his shoulders. His chin lifted. "I am prepared. Do your worst."

Hermione yanked her courage around herself. An unprepared fumble with Viktor and wet and sloppy Weasley kisses were her only guide and she had no idea what Severus' experience was. Still, that would not stop her from finding her first kiss with the wizard she…adored.

Almost with reverence, she drew her fingers along the sharp plan of his jaw. He was smooth and warm. So… _alive_. She fixed her eyes on the bow of his full upper lip before tears broke from her. His mouth parted and a low hum pulsed in her flesh. Fuck. _Fuck_ … This was happening. This was real…

Her lips brushed his and she couldn't help the groan that escaped her. Warm breath with hints of tea and the sugar-sweetness of cake caught on her senses. And he was leaning, leaning into her touch, the drift of his fingers over the wild tangle of her hair…before she drew her lips over his again. And again. Tasting him. The perfection of his bottom lip. Smooth, firm, warm. So… Her tongue flickered against his mouth and his soft, needy moan almost broke her.

"Severus…"

It was a whisper. A want.

And their kiss changed.

Grew fierce and hot. Lips and tongues, hands fisting, bodies straining to be closer…and the curse of clothes that denied touch and heat and skin—

Severus pulled back, breathing hard. "Hermione, I—"

She was on her feet, her hand out waiting…until his fingers slid against own…warm and strong. And wanted. So wanted. "Come to my bed, Severus Snape."


	7. Chapter 7

Severus frowned at her, the grey of suspicion clouding his eyes. "Snape…?"

"Madam Randall."

Hermione grinned at him, pleased that the old witch had said his name, otherwise she'd already be trying to explain herself away…and she wanted this. Before it got awkward and messy, before she _had_ to explain. Just a witch and a wizard on a winter afternoon, hot with attraction and with a bed…just there.

"I'm surprised you didn't get the middle name."

Severus winced and stood. "She'd never inflict that."

He brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed it, his dark eyes now bright and hot. All air escaped Hermione's lungs. She never had been able to understand her obsession with this man. _Something_ had always been there, fixing him as right and worthy in her heart…even when his every action seemed to say otherwise.

She'd always slammed shut the ancient tomes in a cloud of annoyed dust when they hinted at the words: _soul mates_.

His lips quirked upwards. "What is it about me, Hermione?"

His voice, whilst beautiful, didn't yet have the…gravitas that would make her belly squeeze…but this younger Severus had something she could never have imagined. _Warmth and humour_. It was a tighter snare around her already caught heart.

"I hardly know."

"Then…" He straightened but didn't release her hand. His eyebrow lifted. "Shall we find out?"

She jerked a nod. "Yes, yes please." Her face burned at how…gauche she sounded. "Through here."

Hermione led the way around the bulky furniture of her sitting room, to the little door that led to her bed. She'd scoured and deep cleaned the frame and mattress, had new, clean bedding and softly scented the air with orange blossom. Sconces spilled soft, golden light easing the dark grey of the walls and the bare floorboards into something…pleasing. Romantic.

Severus released her hand. "There is a tradition, centuries-old, in Slytherin—my Hogwarts' House—that with the sitting of your final NEWT, you are presented with…a gift."

His voice was low and deep and Hermione could only watch as he pushed through the carved buttons at the wrists of his frockcoat.

"A gift?"

It was a breathless question, escaping her as he loosed the stark white silk of his cravat.

_He was already set in how he would dress for the rest of his life._

The thought hit her. She'd simply accepted it…that she would find this Snape. Just younger. But he was different. Almost sweetly…innocent in a way that made her want to shield him from the world. Even as he didn't need it—

_Oh, fuck, he was taking off his coat_ …

He shrugged out of it and laid it across a nearby chair. She swallowed as he tugged the tails of his shirt free from the band of his form-fitting trousers. He was still slender, but there was a lithe strength to this wizard. She felt it, remembered it in the tips of fingers that had caressed the pristine skin of his Mark-free arm.

And—shit, _shit_ —she should be undressing too.

Hermione shrugged out of robes to reveal the charmed slip that had kept away the worst of the winter chill.

"No Slytherin could enter life unprepared for the…pleasures of the flesh." His fingers stilled on the buttons of his shirt and a hint of pink cut along his sharp cheekbones.

_A Slytherin tradition_. Oh Merlin… The thought that future-Snape had continued the tradition made her blush too.

"Did you…?"

A deeper red sharpened his cheeks. "Hermione…look at me. What chance have I ever had? Besides you, addled little witch, that you are." He closed his eyes, his eyelashes that familiar black fan. His shoulders dropped. "No one has ever wanted me."

Oh, she was _not_ having that. Here, she was his shield. For this.

Hermione wanted the confident wizard who'd so easily began to undress before her. She brushed his fingers away and pushed through the shirt buttons herself. He stared down at her with something like disbelief.

"I do. _I_ want you. I'm irritating and bossy, and my hair is close to sentience, but _I_ want you. Right now. Naked in my bed." She bit her lip. "I've a rather worn copy of the Early Norman Magical Sex Arts, signed by Madam Abercrombie herself. Page 112 is, I think, of particular interest."

Severus stared at her. He waved his hand to her, to the bed, to himself. " _Why?_ "

"Because I like you, Severus Snape. And I've been out in the world a month, a whole month, and you're the first wizard who made my heart beat faster. And…more than anything, I'd like you to be my first."

"Your…" He swallowed, and the flush to his skin edged from his jaw to his neck. " _Hermione_." His voice was suddenly soft and edged with tenderness. Her heart squeezed. Yes, there, there was his honour. "You should give that gift to the man you love."

_I am_.

The words burned unsaid on her tongue.

"Would you treat me casually? Without thought? Take and not give?"

" _No_." He bit out the word. "I would never—"

"Then I chose you, Severus _Snape_." Hermione pressed her hand to the warmth of his cheek. She drew her thumb over its smoothness, pleased that the deep frown lines bracketing his mouth were as yet absent. "If you will have me?"

" _Thoroughly_ addled little witch." He teased a gentle kiss from her lips. "How much…experience do you have, Hermione?"

She sighed, not wanting to spoil her blissful moment with thoughts of Ron. "Kisses from the wizard who will not be named."

Severus smiled against her lips. "He is a dunderhead for cheating on you. But his idiocy is my gain."

Hermione couldn't help the snort that escaped her at the word _dunderhead_. "Mine too." She closed her eyes. "I was fairly…sporty. Sort of. Exercise, anyway." No, she could never admit that riding thestrals and dragons had more than likely done for her hymen. "So…"

Merlin, she hoped he understood, before she dug a more mortifying hole for herself.

"Ah… And The Potion?" A wince pulled at his cheek. "I admit, I've seen no need for it myself—"

"Done. Slug and Jiggers recommended a new line…" Her words trailed away at the brightened flush to his skin. " _Yours?_ It's yours?"

"Patented as a part of my Mastery."

She smirked at him, relieved that someone as adept as Severus had made her off-the-shelf contraceptive potion. "This is fate then." She pushed the shirt from his back and dropped it over his coat. "Sit."

"Bossy little witch."

But he sat on the bed and Hermione curled magic around the ankle-buttons of his trousers, sliding them through. His boots and socks slipped free to reveal fine-boned feet, before his boots marched to their place beside the chair.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and she smirked.

"Show off," he murmured.

Hermione pulled in a breath and yanked her slip over her head. She wore only her knickers underneath…and glamours. Thick wraps of magic to hide her scars; the unwanted gifts from Dolohov and Bellatrix.

"Beautiful…"

Hermione's face ran hot and she lifted her chin…and found him looking at her face, not at her body, at her nakedness. And that word. Whispered with a hope that caught her breath.

"I have had only one lover. And she…"

Hermione stepped between his still-trousered legs and took his face in her hands. "I don't care. _I_ have you now."

His slow, warm fingers teased over her waist and he drew her to him, the bliss of skin against skin, with his head tucked against her chest…was bliss. She pressed a kiss to his hair. "I think we'll leave Early Norman Magic Sex Arts till later. Though, page 112, should be the first one we try."

Severus smiled against the slope of her breast, before he pressed a kiss, and then another, and…oh, that, he had to do that—

A mewl broke from her and Severus grinned before he curled his tongue around her nipple again. "Sensitive?"

The jagged strike of pleasure was fading—no, no. Why was he _talking_ of all things? "Shut up and suck!"

He barked a laugh, but obeyed, the lap and suck of his perfect mouth, the graze of teeth just, Merlin help her, _just_ right… Fuck. Her back met the soft sheets of the mattress, but he didn't stop, didn't...oh, _there_. And...he was naked. _She_ was naked.

_Magic_. It had to be magic. Not that she cared, because his mouth…and now, oh—oh yes, and his fingers were in play. In _her_.

She fisted her own fingers in his hair, determined to keep him at her breast, because she was close, so close, the fire of her release an ever-tightening coil… There. Her breath grew sharp and hot in her lungs, her whole body straining. There… _yes_ —

A wave of heat crashed over her and she cried out, lost, so beautifully lost…and Severus was moving over her, moving, silken skin and muscle and…fucking _hell—_

She came again. Fierce and quick and a shock to her already straining flesh. _One lover_. How had he had only one lover, when he could play her body this way? Well she was keeping him all to herself…

"With me again?"

His voice was a sweet and velvet rumble and she smiled up at him. She drew a long lock of his black hair away from his face. "Who needs a book when I have you?"

He laughed…and oh, wasn't _that_ lovely.

Severus groaned as she flexed around him. "Hermione, I won't last long if you do that…"

She smirked and squeezed him again. Hard. "I'm two ahead."

"Then…allow me to catch up."

His fingers threaded through hers, the dark fall of his hair, the golden light gleaming over his porcelain skin…and he moved against her. Filling her. Filling her so deliciously. She arched into him, her hard nipples brushing against the heat and sparse hair of his chest, wanting more of him, wanting him deeper. Wanting him forever inside of her. He was so very beautiful. Vulnerable. Open. His lips parted. Eyelids flickered…like her, needing to see, to know that the other was there. _Was real._

"More, Severus. Fuck me."

"Hermione…" Her name came out as a dark groan, lined with censure…and with desperate need. "You—"

"Will not break. _Fuck me_."

His mouth curled into something wicked. Dark. And — _oh, yes_ — that was the wizard she wanted. Powerful. Ruthless in his pursuit of pleasure…

He stroked into her, fierce and hard, grinding against her pubic bone and dancing stars across her eyes. Fuck… Oh fuck… "Yes…" The word was dragged from her in a half-moan. "Severus… _Yes_."

And Hermione lost herself to the flare of pleasure. To the drive of this wizard as he fucked her so deliciously, so achingly _hard_. Her breath broke into laughter as the bed creaked and waves of dust drifted through the candlelight.

Severus' own grin was feral. "Merlin, witch, I have never—" He actually growled as she broke free of his hold, clamped her hands onto his muscled backside and urged him deeper. " _Fuck…_ "

"Make me come."

"So… _bossy_." His breath brushed her skin, his hair a silk tangling with her own wild strands and a cool bliss against her hot face. "Scream for me, then, little witch. Scream the name of the wizard… _despoiling_ you."

She grinned at him, caught in his words, in the low, velvet rumble and loving that only his brain could conjure up such a dark and debauched word…when her mind was melting. And there…fuck. The hot pleasure that bordered on pain, the promise, the promise of utter release, of…of—

Golden fire smashed over and through her. She shook. She thrashed. And his name—his beautiful fucking name—burst from her in a wail.

Somewhere distant, her own name was a growing chant and a final, final sigh and Severus pulled her to him, wrapping his long arms around her, squeezing her so wonderfully tight. She breathed him in—herbs and books and rather _magnificent_ sex—and thought how she could plan to have a career naked in bed with him forever.

The brush of a kiss against her forehead broke into her thoughts. "That was…lovely."

He huffed a laugh against her, the rumble shocking through her as he was still…inside her. Still hard. She frowned. Had he not…?

"Severus?"

He hummed against her, something almost…sleepy.

She wiggled, the length of him a fresh pulse of pleasure in sensitive flesh. She bit her lip. "You're still…"

His soft laughter warmed through her and he ran a slow hand down to her backside. Long fingers gave a quick squeeze and she squeaked. "Give me time," he murmured. "Some cocks—mine especially—stay hard for a while after."

"As long as you…you know."

After being so sure in what she wanted in the heat of the moment, afterwards found her gauche again. Unsure.

"Oh, I did…you know." He smirked against her forehead. "Most definitely. And you, you demanding and bossy witch, have worn me out."

She pressed a kiss to his chest and snuggled against him. Oh, yes, that was still rather nice… "Good."

"Indeed."

A pulse of wandless magic drew the blankets over their nakedness and for a long moment, she was silent, lost in the comfort of his arms and the silken heat of his skin. And there… He was right about time as he…softened. Would this be her future, if her intricate plans fell the way she intended?

Her life with this wizard. Her worn heart ached for it. To have him and hold him close…forever. But…she'd yet to tell him the truth and had grabbed this time, this moment in a selfish, desperate act.

Shit, he was still probably torn over Lily. Guilt pricked at her. She had to tell him. But a part of her wanted…this. A warm bed, rumpled sheets and replete bodies snuggled under soft blankets…the swirling darkness of the outside world forgotten.

She drew in a breath—

"I can feel your mind whirring over, Hermione Granger."

She stilled. Was he…was he already a legilimens? Fuck, oh fuck…

Severus drew back, his dark eyes edged with gold…and something moved within them. Something grey. "Hermione. Tell me, if you regret this…"

He thought…? "No. _No_ , not at all. Not for a heartbeat." She bit her lip and stared at the pale curve of his collarbone. "I…I know that you're not…over what you felt for your friend. But I…hope, I would _like_ , for this one day to be our…more, Severus."

She swallowed and ploughed on, her nerves tight. "You're going to say we hardly know each other." Her face grew hot. "Well, we do know each other _rather_ well now, obviously…but time doesn't determine how well you _can_ know someone, that's down to disposition—"

"I am _not_ John Willoughby."

Hermione closed her eyes. Yes, she had been channelling Marianne Dashwood, hadn't she? A curl of warmth chased through her belly that he knew _exactly_ what she was talking about. She pressed a kiss to his chest and willed herself to meet his dark gaze. "No, you, _you_ are the wisest and best of men."

He gave her the eyebrow. "Yes, I should think so."

Laughter broke from her and his grin, unsure and shy at first, squeezed her heart. She threaded her fingers through his hair, drawing him to a kiss—

And he stilled. "Are you expecting someone?"

"What…?"

There, over the thud of her heart, was the clomp and stamp of boots echoing up her stairs. That bloody doorknocker. Now it was letting anyone in to spite her—

Severus was up with a speed that shocked her, a leg in his trousers. She scrambled from their bed, infected by his worry, and threw on her robes. He already had his wand out, his jaw tight, his hand on her arm holding her behind him.

"Severus…"

He shook his head—sharp and quick—as a shadow moved over the crack of the open bedroom door. The thump of boots stopped…as did her breathing. Who…?

"Interesting company y'keep, Miss Granger."

The door rolled open and a magical eye stopped its swirl and fixed tight on her.

Fuck, it was not the _best_ moment to introduce herself to Alastor Moody.


	8. Chapter 8

_"_ _My Nora…"_

_Mad Eye's rough voice had softened and he looked to the edge of his black frame, the brightness of pain catching the red burn of tears to his true-eye. He shook his head and drew in a heavy breath. His broad shoulders lifted and he leant on his twisted staff, his magical eye sparking._

_"_ _She…this blasted eye —she couldn't even look at me. I thought...that was it. I turned from her…and broke myself away. Never…" He heaved a sigh. "She died...coming to see_ me _. It was why she in was Diagon Alley that day, despite the curfews. Why Baran Travers targeted her. I thought I'd been careful, but I'd been seen with her before. And she was muggleborn."_

_His head dropped and his fingers fisted in his pale hair. "I took his life. Cut the bastard in two. Right down the middle. He took my leg…and ripped out my heart."_

_Hermione's own heart squeezed tight in her chest. She'd never known. She doubted anyone knew of the woman Alastor Moody had lost._

_It was impossible to miss Moody's life-size portrait, set to terrify any wizard or witch coming in to the atrium of the Auror Office. And her plan centred on this wizard, considered the greatest auror of all time. But she needed a way to reach the man he'd been two decades before. Something secret, something only he would know._

_She'd never considered it would be this heartbreakingly personal._

_"_ _My Nora…died in these useless arms." He shook his head. "Her last breaths… She said she was wrong. Said she loved me. Didn't give two figs if I ended up looking like a dried up old stump." A bitter laugh broke from him. "Och, my sweet girl, she wasn't far wrong, was she?_

 _"_ _It was my fault, Miss Granger._ Mine _." His fist thumbed his chest, the sound hollow in the painting's wooden frame. "And if you can change this one thing, give me my time with her. I didn't even get her in paint._ Bastards _."_

_For a long moment, he was silent. The hiss of the spells surrounding her, silencing and distracting, pricked her skin. But she breathed and willed her heart slow and, waited. At this end, she had time, after all._

_"_ _I carried this with me. Always."_

 _Moody pulled a sparkling platinum and sapphire ring out of his coat pocket. It'd followed him into paint. Hermione's heart was a fist in her chest. It had been a_ complete _part of him._

 _"_ _Her birthstone. I planned to propose before MacNair took my eye… No one knew_. No one _. Only my Nora. In those few moments, when I still had her, she said…she said yes…"_

_Mad Eye dragged his hand down his craggy face. "This ring, that's your in, Miss Granger. Make it fucking count."_

* * *

"Auror Moody. This is…a surprise."

Mad Eye—though that's all he was, as he still had his leg and the rest of his nose—huffed a breath. "Get dressed," his true-eye narrowed on Severus, "the pair of you."

Severus pushed the door into the frame, slashed out a muffliato around them and frowned at her. "How do you know a dark wizard catcher like Moody?"

Hermione fisted her fingers in her hair. She'd wanted to meet Moody in the morning, after she was sure she'd kept Severus from the Mark. Bloody impatient man. She let out a long breath and looked to her lover, her wizard. _Hers_. "You're going to hear things. Unbelievable things. As crazy as it sounds your Madam Randall worked it out. So, please Severus, trust me. For just a little while. Please?"

Severus gave her a slow nod, but the ease between them was gone.

Hermione pulled in a breath, her chest tight.

What he would hear on the other side of that door… She could lose him. Forever.

* * *

"I followed up on your letter, Miss Granger."

Moody stared out of the window, much as he himself had done. That disturbing magical eye swivelled in its socket and edged a look at him. Severus lifted his chin. He was a respectable Apprentice. He had nothing to hide.

Moody turned and leant against the sink. "You were right about…certain people." His hand slipped to his coat, and he patted his chest. An inside pocket? The worn leather creaked. "That _misunderstanding_ is resolved."

Hermione pressed her lips together and her eyes swam with tears. "I'm very happy," her gaze flicked to to the auror, "for…certain people. Both of them."

Moody's mouth twitched. Fuck, did the infamous auror have wind? That couldn't be a _smile_. "Is your man there to know everything?"

Hermione jerked a nod, even as something shifted in her gaze. Something uncertain and…fearful.

"And he can be trusted?"

"Absolutely."

Severus kept his face impassive. There'd been no hesitation in her with that answer. None. It mixed with the shock of Moody, a famed dark wizard catcher taking the word of a still teenage witch. Who _was_ this Hermione Granger?

Something curled in Severus' chest and he hated, loathed the fact that it was suspicion. Fuck-it-all, he'd needed…he'd needed it to be simple. That she fancied him. That she _wanted_ him.

_You're an idiot, Severus Snape. A prize fucking idiot. Who would want you?_

And wasn't that his cunt of a father's voice?

"My thirst brought me here to Diagon Alley." He pulled out a small glass and metal flask, the inscription worn and half-hidden by his gnarled hand. "And who do I run into but Sirius Black and that idiot friend of his, Potter. Lurking in the Third Ginnel. Morons, the pair of them."

Severus willed down the twitch of his lips, the need to smile. He'd never thought to like Alastor Moody…but the auror was obviously a _discerning_ wizard.

"Black was ranting on that a Death Eater had imperio'd a young witch in the Bow-Legged Witch. Madam Randall and I go back a long way. A good woman. We had an…interesting exchange of information."

Both eyes, true and magical, aligned and moved from Hermione to Severus and back to the witch sitting next to him. "I can't see what she sees, that's fixed in her blood, but I trust _her_." That fearsome stare moved back to him. "And so I will trust her about _you_ , Severus Snape."

Severus gave a short nod, the relief of not being under suspicion by the dark wizard catcher hot in his belly. He willed his heart to slow. Too much swirled and twisted in this strange moment. He had to focus. And wait. And _listen_.

"All right." Moody pulled a letter from his coat pocket. "Of the five items you listed, I have personally—and with great personal satisfaction—disposed of…all of them."

Hermione blinked. Her mouth fell open and she gaped, before her teeth clacked together again. What the hell was this witch involved in? Something dark? The pleasure of her belief in him, of Moody's trust faded. Old insecurities rose. Had she used him? Was she using him? Of course she was. Pretty little virgin witches didn't throw themselves at wizards like _him_. Not without a reason.

Had she thought him one of Voldemort's legion of Death Eaters? Oh, they _had_ courted him, but his Master had been adamant. _Him…or them_. And there was no way in hell, he would ever give up the opportunity to be a protégé of Theodore Begbie…

Her trembling hand grabbed at his knee and squeezed hard, breaking into the sour rise of his thoughts.

" _All_ of them? And…and they were the true—"

"Yes, screamin' and black smoke and something to twist even my shrivelled old heart." He huffed and cupped a sarcastic hand to ear, an eyebrow arched. "And what's that? Is that the sound of Tom Riddle's last curse still echoing. You know, I think it is."

" _He's…?_ "

Moody smirked at her, obviously enjoying her disbelief. "You recommended a young auror by the name of Shacklebolt. Turns out to be a solid man. I've left him with the body. Put a cursed blade into Voldemort's belly myself."

Heat bloomed in Severus' chest. This Tom Riddle was _Lord Voldemort_? Merlin, Voldemort was _dead_?

Hermione sucked in a breath, something quick and rattled, and lurched forward. Her head dropped between her knees. Severus couldn't help himself—even as he cursed his needy nature—and put a hand to her spine. It looked so pale and large against her slender back, the warmth of her body—her bare flesh under her hastily thrown on robes—a delicious and wanted heat against his palm.

A fist tightened around his heart. No. Every instinct screamed that she was playing him. That he had been most _royally_ played. His hand curled away.

"Here, drink this."

Moody handed her a little silver cap from his bottle. Silver smoke spiralled from it. The scent of alcohol caught Severus and he blinked. His Master had bought it to celebrate Severus' first successful patent. Centuries old Ogden Old Barrel, rare, beyond rare, and that nip was a measure of more galleons than he'd see in a month.

Her fingers closed around it and she gulped it back. Her cheeks burned, her eyes watered and magic sparked in her hair, curling the gorgon beast of it into wild spirals.

Moody grinned—a fearsome sight. "Better?"

That question was met with three jerked nods and her mouth opened—harmless flame flickered silver over her lips—and closed. No words came…and she nodded again.

Moody poured a slug for himself and sipped. He sighed, something deep and satisfied and a bloom of red filled his craggy cheeks. "You played this well, witch. Very well." He saluted with the cup before taking another sip. "Ever think about becoming an Auror?"

Hermione shook her head and tears slipped over her cheeks. "Apprentice arithmancer." The two words were choked and she wiped a shaking hand over her mouth. Another long breath escaped her. "I'd like that position."

"The Department of Mysteries then." Moody smirked. "I'll put in a word."

Hermione simply blinked. And again. "Thank you."

Questions were piling up in Severus. What had she done? How had she brought down a wizard as powerful, as connected as Voldemort in a fucking _afternoon_?

"Severus…" Her little fingers, slender and nervous, slid to his knee again. He stopped the flinch at her touch, but still, her hand froze and for a moment, her eyes closed. Her pulse thudded hard at the base of her throat. "I'm…from the future, Severus. Twenty years from now. An awful place. One destroyed by Voldemort. We…defeated him, but the cost, the cost was unbearable."

A hammer fell into his gut. She was a time-traveller. "What was I to you?"

He couldn't ask the question that burned around his heart. _Couldn't_. He'd known her a few hours, she was using him—had used him—for a reason he didn't yet know…and with a successful mission, she had to go back to her own time…didn't she?

And there was his useless speck of hope in those final two words.

"You…were the lynchpin of the war, first and second." She stared at her unmoving fingers before she drew them back into her lap to knot them together with the other. "You gave everything, including your…life to see _him_ defeated."

Her voice had cracked…and so did Severus' weary heart.

"It was all for him, then. Not…never for me."

He gritted his teeth. Stupid to admit that pain. _Stupid_. But…the witch had done this for _him_ , for the dead man that had been his future. She loved _that_ man. Tempered by sacrifice and war, a…a hero. And what was he? A Potions Apprentice. Even if she didn't return to her altered future, how…how could she settle for the banality of _him_?

"Thank you for all you've done, Hermione. For…" He stood, a jerk of his body upright, the rush to move, to run, to thrash magic from his flesh until he screamed firing through him. "For…saving the world. I…"

He strode towards the bedroom—

"Severus, please…"

The pain in her voice stilled him. He rested his head against the doorjamb, just breathing as Moody gave his clipped farewells and stomped off down the stairs.

The front door banged shut.

"I…will not be second best." He couldn't look at her, if he did, he'd give in. Give her anything. Everything. A fist tightened around his heart, fierce and hard. But then she no doubt knew his nature. Stupid, needy Severus. "I am not _him_ , Hermione. And I never will be."

Yes, it was time he left too.


	9. Chapter 9

An epilogue after this.

* * *

Hermione pressed her hand to his shirted back…as he'd comforted her before. Though that touch had been too brief. Hesitant. In that moment, she'd known she was losing him and her heart —even as she celebrated Voldemort's quick demise— her heart…cracked.

"No… No, you are not him."

Severus stiffened and she closed her eyes. He thought himself so…unworthy.

"What I said before is true. The length of time knowing someone is...it doesn't matter. Yes, the man you would've become drew me, I don't deny it. His portrait? Yes, that too. I got a hint of the man who hid beneath so many layers. But Merlin, Severus, _meeting you_. Those other men were incomplete. _You_ …"

Hermione had to see his face and ducked around him. His eyes were shut and a tight pained line formed between his brows. So achingly familiar. She pressed desperate fingers to his cheek, "You…"

She shook her head, wanting and knowing that she couldn't throw her heart at him. It wouldn't be his choice…and Merlin help her; _it had to be that_.

Her instincts screamed it. As they had with their run-in with James Potter and Sirius. So…she let out a slow breath and her fingers curled away. Pain fisted in her belly. Yes, she'd thoroughly smashed the timeline that had led to his being Marked…and to his death. That was her job…done. Anything more was down to _him_.

"I want you safe, Severus Snape. This you. Because he…" She stepped back, looking to the rumpled bed and the moments of heated bliss she'd found there chased through her swirling thoughts. He had been so…beautiful. Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes. "Even if you…you walk out and never come back. Never." She swallowed. "Never see me again. You will live. Free of the Mark. Free of everyone.

"That's why I came back. _You_. This you. The first apprentice to Theodore Begbie in fifty bloody years. Brilliant. So brilliant. What you can do now…" She shook her head. "It was a means to an end to remove Voldemort, his Death Eaters, his followers—"

"His followers." Severus' pale cheeks flushed and he stared at her. "He has... _had_ hundreds…"

Hermione huffed a laugh and almost winced at the bitterness edging it. "I'm thorough. Famed for it, actually. Auror Moody has more than the single sheaf about Voldemort. I gave him detailed lists of everyone connected to the _Dark Lord_ …and evidence, times and dates that'd ensure conviction." A wry smile twitched across her mouth. "The other end of my timeline…as you can see, not so urgent."

"And you've been here a month?"

 _He wasn't leaving._ That was the only thought pinging through her mind. He was curious, he was asking questions. Hermione nodded and gave him a more-sure smile. "It was actually quite nice spending Christmas in the Leaky Cauldron."

Not much of a lie. It had been, with strangers caught there making the best of it with good food and mulled wine and the Wizarding Wireless softly echoing over the stone walls. And in the future, who would she have had? Who _had_ she had? She'd not been welcome at the Burrow and had been one of the displaced students stuck in Hogwarts…with too many dark memories.

"And your cheating wizard?"

There was an undercurrent to Severus' voice. Did he think she'd lied about who she was? Yes, she'd woven some...fabrications around her life, but she couldn't declare the truth, not in that moment, not without so much more explanation.

"Real enough. And an utter shit, in the end. He'll be born in two months time." She winced. "I'm four months old." She drew in a breath. "A…muggleborn. I _did_ go to Hogwarts. Gryffindor."

Severus' dark eyes narrowed on her. "That explains…a lot."

"Doesn't it? My research on time theory wasn't clear. If anyone has ever done what I have, they, naturally aren't owning up to it." She wiped a hand over her mouth, the old worry coming forward again. "And I don't know if the baby version of me will be a witch, or if I've…stolen her magic."

That uncertainty twisted through Hermione's chest. To be robbed of her magic. Never to know the power that surged at her command, the wild incandescent beauty of it… Maybe…perhaps, Baby Hermione's life would be…easier _without_ magic, without the rift it caused between herself and her parents.

At least her parents wouldn't be in Australia with no idea that they'd _ever_ had a daughter.

"No, whatever _her_ future, it will be…better."

"I can't…" Something moved in his eyes. Oh, the dear man, he so wanted to believe her. To believe that someone would care enough to change the world for him. But he couldn't. "Hermione, you're lying to yourself. You did this for _him_ —"

And there it was…

"I did this for _Severus Snape_ …and whatever incarnation he now lives in." Hermione lifted her shoulders. "Madam Randell said the need for the truth would come at me fast."

" _Grammy?_ "

Severus flushed at the word and his gaze darted away.

"She…caught me before we left…could see what I was. Knew I'd come to keep you safe."

Hermione knotted her hands and stared at her bloodless knuckles. "I want you alive, Severus. I want that brilliant mind of yours turned to making this world…incredible. You never finished your apprenticeship under Master Begbie You were trapped between two _other_ , less worthy masters and spent your days trying to batter potions tuition into ungrateful and thick-headed children—"

Severus blinked. Twice. "I become a… _teacher_?"

She'd always suspected that he'd hated teaching, only Dumbledore and Voldemort's needs pinning him to Hogwarts. The look of dawning horror on his face was almost comical. "A professor —potions master— at Hogwarts for almost two decades, before—"

Severus held up his hand to stop her. He stared, silent, possibly horrified and caught his fingers in his tangled hair. "You stopped me becoming a _teacher_."

Hermione returned his stare, slightly worried, and wondering if she'd come into the past not to save Severus Snape, but to break him.

And then…and then his lips quirked up into a dark smirk that quite caught her breath. He was close again. Without her being aware of him actually moving…

"And you had a…crush on this potions master?"

Oh, good and merciful Merlin. His voice was a sin-filled rumble. He knew – _exactly_ — the power of it. Git. Her face burned and she pressed her lips together. She jerked a nod.

He lifted an eyebrow. "More than a crush?"

Another nod, because his voice _and_ that devilish eyebrow? She was putty.

"Did I…did _he_ …?"

Hermione shook her head.

"More fool him."

She willed a breath, the desperate curl of hope there again in her chest. "Severus…?"

"No one has ever…" He huffed a disbelieving breath. "No one has ever acted in my interest. For me. Selflessly. To change the course of _time_? _For me?_ " His dark eyes shone. "Though not _so_ selfless, Hermione?" He was a looming shadow, the heat of his body, the wanted scent of his skin taking over her every sense. "You wanted…something."

"I…" Guilt swirled, because she _had_ wanted him. Wanted him to be her first…if not her only. And she'd grabbed at the chance, used him before she explained why she was with him. Before he could push her away. "I wanted—"

"—to fuck me."

Yet another jerky nod.

" _What a naughty girl you are, Miss Granger._ "

Her knees almost gave out and she clutched at the edge of the dresser, her fingers tight and bloodless. Fuck… That low and velvet growl, saying _those words_ , ones that had chased her through illicit and heated dreams for _years_. She wet parched lips, simply staring at him. "How…?"

His smirk was sharp. Dark. So wicked her heart was thudding. Oh, this Severus was simply…delicious. "What else would an eager young witch imagine her professor saying?" A long finger stroked her hot cheek and she shivered under the light caress. "Thank you." His smile softened and she looked on a Snape she'd never seen before. Tender. Warm. Happy… "Dark Lords and foul creations and my future death aside, thank you," he pressed his hand over his heart, " _thank you_ for breaking the timeline that made _me_ a teacher."

Hermione snorted. "You are most welcome."

"Am I?"

Oh, there was that eyebrow again…and she didn't stop the need to run her fingertip over its tempting curve. "I admit to a selfish turn to coming back here." There in her chest, the tight burn, the push to say more. _It was safe._ He'd chosen... Tears burned and it really wasn't fair that she could be _this_ happy. "If you would have me, Severus Snape, I would have _you_ …forever."

"Yes, what is time to one who is so cavalier with it?"

But Severus tilted her face to his and the softest of kisses brushed her lips. Because he couldn't resist her. Not for another moment. It was him. She wanted him. Not some phantom wizard decades into the future. It was strange that a man he would never become had caught the interest of this witch and compelled her to come back to find a…completeness in him.

And he believed her. Oh, he was more than happy to make _her_ his future. How could he not?

"If you wish, you can have me and keep me." He kept his voice to the low, dark rumble that glazed her eyes and had the pulse at her throat throbbing. "Forever. And always."

Her mouth parted, though no sound came out. A single tear chased onto her cheek…before she flung herself at him. He grunted as her arms became a vice. "Though…"

Her head snapped up and she frowned, a shadow clouded her eyes. "What?"

"It is still my birthday and I was promised cake."

Her cheeks flooded with colour and her inexperience hit him again. He pressed his hand to her face, his thumb teasing over her parted lips. "May I…share it with you?" His gaze flicked to the bed and the mess of sheets. The tormenting scent of sex still lingered and Merlin save him, he wanted her again. With or without cake. " _Miss Granger…_ "

She sucked in a breath, blinked at him and her fierce hold grew slack. Her eyes were almost as black as his own. Such a simple thing turned her to a puddle of wanton witch.

A slow, sharp grin pulled at his mouth. It would be interesting to be her teacher...in some ways. "Would you prefer to call me…Professor?"

All breath broke from him as Hermione pounced.

So…without cake, then.


	10. Chapter 10

Epilogue - 12 August 1996

"It is not fair!" Heather stamped her foot and sparks of magic chased over the windowpanes. "Why does _she_ get to go? I'm only a year younger—"

" _Heather Snape_." Grammy's sure voice was a whip and Poppy was more than happy to see her younger sister snap her teeth together. Though _that_ flip of hair would stop her from a second helping of Grammy's muffins. "You are not yet ready for your wand. Poppy is eleven. You are ten. You're a clever girl and can remember when your time at Hogwarts will begin…can you not?"

Heather's lips pressed together, and she looked so like Father… "Next year," she bit out. "I will be allowed next year."

"Exactly that. Now, we will stay here and you will help me with the sticky toffee pudding. Let's channel that excess magic into something useful."

It was the first day that the new intake to Hogwarts could officially have their wand chose them…and it would be a crush in Ollivanders. Her best friend, Megan Moody, and her dad would be there to collect her at nine sharp. Her parents would meet them at the shop…as they couldn't guarantee to be prompt. Mum had something on…and Father had the final stages of something unexpectedly foul and unstable in his basement laboratory. And his potion was the reason Poppy and her three sisters had been at Grammy's for the past few nights.

A curl of worry twisted in Poppy's belly. She wanted her parents there, to witness her first rite as a witch. A smile twitched at her mouth. But she supposed _that_ was turning Heather's hair the colour of ripe blueberries when a greedy two-year-old stole a pot of her favourite fruit.

The chime of the front door had Poppy racing to it. She checked —as had been drummed into her from a tiny age— the foe-glass and then peeked through the spyhole. The hulk of Uncle Alastor surged there. He leant forward filling the spyhole with his magical eye, where it span and whirled, and Poppy grinned.

She flung open the door. "Uncle Alastor, please come in."

He wasn't her real uncle, of course. Neither of her parents had any brothers or sisters. But he'd been her life forever. When he wasn't being the Hogwarts Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, that was.

She waved at Megan who stood shyly by her famous father. It wasn't easy having such a famous parent. The man who single-handedly removed a dark wizard and his followers from their world. She suspected it was a lot to live up to. It was bad enough being the daughter of two Masters…

"Alastor."

The Defence against the Dark Arts professor gave a polite nod to Grammy, his mouth twitching upwards. His strange eye whirled, darting about the room and fixing on the four girls, before fixing back on Grammy.

"Madam Randall. Only _four_ girls? I could bring you some spare girls if you have need them."

Grammy snorted and pushed herself out of chair to lean heavily on her walking stick. She waved him into the little parlour set above her pub. "I believe your latest is to be a girl too?"

"So the healer says."

The old woman patted his arm, her fingers twisted and gnarled against the brown leather of the professor sleeve. "Seven girls, Alastor. _Seven_." She shook her head. "Will you stop now, or still try for a boy?"

There was a softness to the wizard's craggy face. "I was happy with my first, with my little Lisa. _More_ than happy. _Me_ with a daughter. But, my Nora…wanted a quidditch team. And I…I can deny her nothing."

"You're a soft touch, Alastor."

He barked a laugh. "That I am." He looked to Poppy and Megan. "Time we were off. It'll be a busy first day at Ollivanders."

Grammy caught Poppy's sleeve as she pulled on her thin summer cloak. "Your wand, child, it will show you things. Be ready."

Poppy frowned. Mum had said to her that there was something in the Prince line, a knowing, that found the eldest girl in a descended family. Magic will out, as the old woman before would say. Poppy's heart squeezed as a thought chased, leaving hot panic in its wake. The reason why her parents weren't there… Oh… _oh_. "I…I am a witch though, aren't I, Grammy?"

"Oh, my dearest and sweetest girl." She pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You are _such_ a witch. The world will fall before you."

Another of Grammy's strange and sweeping statements. Mum would frown at them, her look thoughtful and sharp, as if she'd stumbled on a new arithmantic equation. Father simply rolled his eyes. Especially as over one family dinner, their Grammy had declared he'd make a fine Minister for Magic. Mum had grinned and said he could perfect his best scowl for the press. He'd glowered at both of them for the rest of the meal.

"I just want to find a wand."

"You will. Magic churns and rushes through your family, Poppy, have no worry."

But how could she help but worry as she trotted after Uncle Alastor, silent, as Megan chattered away, half to her, half to her father. She wanted the warm hold of Mum and Father's surety to drive away the wild churn of her nerves.

She _was_ a witch. _She was_. Heather had had blueberry coloured hair for _six months_. Proof. It was proof…and she was feeling better until they moved into the surge of people crowding Diagon Alley and knotting around Ollivander's shop.

"Alastor!"

A voice, a wave and a wild tangle of curls declared Mum was in the queue forming outside. Father stood beside her, tall and pale and with a distinct gap around him. His infamous scowl was in play.

Poppy grinned. They'd kept her a place in the queue, so that they were near the front. Second after a blond boy, a younger, sandy haired boy and a girl with almost as wild a head of hair as Mum. Poppy frowned at the dark brown…nest. Definitely worse than Mum's.

Mum drew her into an enveloping hug, squeezing her tight. "Oh, this so exciting, my lovely Poppy."

"Wife, she needs to breathe," Father murmured, his black eyebrow arched.

Mum stuck out her tongue and his mouth twitched upwards. Behind them, a long-haired man huffed and muttered something to his glasses-wearing friend but Uncle Alastor fixed his magical eye on them and the first man blanched. "Good morning, Black."

Black gave a curt nod. "Professor Moody."

The door to Ollivander's opened and the man himself appeared. "Welcome, welcome…we have a busy day today. Will the first three families please come inside?"

They all shuffled forward into the shadowy shop, thick with the smells of wood and hair and other strange...animaly things Poppy did not want to swell on. With a clatter of the bell, the door closed behind Black and his group. Poppy's heart thudded, but Mum gave her hand a comforting squeeze, as her other sought out Megan's. She bit her lip, her face pink as Mr Ollivander narrowed his eyes on the first young wizard of the day. "Ah, Mr Granger, you are very welcome today."

Mum sucked in a breath and blinked, staring at the boy with short, sandy hair and sticky-out teeth. He grinned up at the girl with the wild hair, who urged him forward. She looked…familiar. More than her hair. Something…

The boy took up the wand and trailed magic in a glittering silver wave. The girl with him clapped, as did Mum, her eyes bright. Was she…crying? Did she know them?

"A perfect fit, Mr Granger. Yes, walnut, springy, dragon heartstring and 12 inches. A fine wand. You will do very well with it."

And as galleons slipped into the hand of the wandmaker's assistant, Poppy edged forward.

"Are we late? Has Elizabeth chosen her wand yet?"

An older boy with glasses and wild scruffy hair and another with burning orange hair burst into the wand shop and the wandmaker narrowed his creased eyes on them.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. This is a solemn rite. Control yourselves or remove yourselves from my shop. Your sister is next, after Miss Snape and Miss Moody."

The orange haired boy flushed a purplish red to the roots of hair and the other boy mumbled his apology under the glare of his father. Poppy assumed the man with equally wild hair and glasses —another Mr Potter?— was his relation. Mr Black —the man Professor Moody had glared at—had his gaze fixed on _her_. He was scowling and Poppy blinked, her pulse jumping.

"Black." Father growled the name, low and hard and the hairs on her neck lifted. "We can quite easily step outside." He flicked a glance to Uncle Alastor. "Alastor will you act as my second?"

Mr Potter the Elder but a firm hand on Mr Black's arm. "Not here and not now, Sirius. I will not have Elizabeth's day spoilt. Do you want to explain how you got in duel to _Lily_?"

Mr Black paled and his grey eyes skirted over Poppy and away.

"Miss Snape?"

Poppy snapped her eyes back to the elderly wandmaker and reached into the velvet lining of the wand box he presented to her.

"An unsual wand this. Vine with inlay of ebony. Dittany stalk as its core. Almost...unique. I have sold one other. To Madam Madelaine Randall, I believe."

The hum of it tickled Poppy's fingers before she touched the wand, magic curling up to her skin. She breathed, letting it reach for her. Magic was her right. She glanced back to Mum and blinked. What…?

Threads of silver chased all around her, stretching out to swamp the girl with the wild hair who was still fussing over Granger. Strange connexions that didn't make sense.

_Time. Change..._

The words whispered through her thoughts.

More of them woves all around the shadowy shop, snaking to everyone in it.

"Pick up the wand, Miss Snape. It will become…easier."

Mr Ollivander's words were a soft whisper and she blinked back at him and eased the long, straight wand from its box—

Her chest hollowed the wild rush of…something chasing through every inch of her. Her hair…lifted, a wild cloud around her head, so for the first time, her straight black locks looked like Mum's…

"Garrick…?" Father's voice somewhere off to the left, quick and concerned.

"Madelaine Randall was the same, Severus. The first touch of a wand, opens some to a family…talent."

Mum gasped and Poppy looked to her. She froze.

Words now chased through the air, flowing along the lines of silver. Mum…she was _also_ the girl –Hermione _Granger_ — with the wild hair. And shadows chased around those who…should not be there. Her…her _brother_ …David. A brother never born. The girl, Elizabeth. And…and _Megan_. Her best friend, a phantom.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy…all turned and twisted. The blond boy, had a different family, was an enemy of the girl he'd accompanied to the wand shop…not, brought up in the _same house_. So different. So much difference.

And Harry Potter had a cut of evil under his flesh, something foul and rotten she wanted to run from it.

James Potter, and the odious Sirius Black, were grey, more wisp of smoke than flesh…because they were... Merlin, they were _dead_. Professor Moody and Father…changed, grew wizened and gaunt and weighted with darkness.

Even the air, the walls, the glass was shuttered with a strange and heavy darkness…and evil. Such evil.

Trembling Poppy held up her own hand and found herself…insubstantial. Tears broke free.

"What's wrong with her?" The orange boy –Ron Weasley— scoffed…and Uncle Alastor glared at him. He clamped his mouth shut.

"Mum…?"

Poppy was swept up into her mum's arms and Father's too. The rightness, the safety bled down into her bones and the wild rush of panic faded and died. And the world she knew slipped back. Light and secure, and filled with the people she loved. Whole and well. And she knew, just has Grammy had said. She _knew_.

"You… _Everything?_ You changed… You did all this." Poppy stared up at her mum. A Master Arithmancer. A brilliant witch, everyone said. But no one could ever know _how_ brilliant. "Thank you."

Mum snorted. Half laugh, half sob. "You are very welcome, my lovely girl. Now, let's pay Mr Ollivander, then, when Megan has her wand, its back to Grammy's for her very special and gooey stick toffee pudding. Yes?"

"Yes."

Father offered a snowy white handkerchief with a brief smile and Poppy was glad to clean up her face.

Yes, sticky toffee pudding –especially so early in the morning— would be wonderful.

* * *

Hermione closed the door to the kitchen and stepped out in the little courtyard behind the Bow-Legged Witch. She sucked in clean, warm air, the hints of lunch still drifting. Poppy had Grammy's talent to see time, to see how everything _should_ have fallen.

She'd have to contact Minerva and have a…special waiver for Poppy to have regular contact with her Grammy. Her daughter would need the older witch's vast experience with her unique Prince family gift.

But beyond that, the image of a sandy haired boy of eleven was stuck in her head. David Granger, Poppy said was his name. Named after his father… _Her_ father.

"I…she has a _brother_ , Severus. A magical brother." She sucked in another wobbly breath and looked to the dark and still figure of her husband. "My mother admitted, what I was, the strange happenings around me, made them reluctant to bring another child into the world. Fearful of what I would d…do."

Severus wrapped his arms around his sobbing witch and pressed a kiss to her tamed hair. It had been a full and trying day and it was still only one o'clock. And Hermione, his Hermione, to have Poppy's talent explode as so many other things had her caught and twisted… "Your initiative brought it about, my clever wife. _Her_ parents would've been approached by the time she was two."

Moody had talked Headmistress McGonagall around. And who would ignore the wizard who —apparently _single-handedly_ \- took down Voldemort and his followers? Especially after Dumbledore's ignominious removal from the post of Headmaster. Hermione had brought evidence on him too. As she'd said so many years ago, his witch was _thorough_.

Muggleborns were sponsored now by good wizarding families. In the Grangers' case, by Andromeda and Ted Tonks...a couple –Moody said— who'd also taken in Andromeda's nephew Draco as Moody has put his parents in Azkaban.

Yes, the packed wand shop had been heaped with revelation. From his daughter learning the truth about her mother, to Hermione's meeting herself _and_ a brother…and the wizards who'd lolloped in after Potter and Black.

A wry smile pulled at his mouth. "What by Merlin's grey and grizzly beard, did you ever see in him?"

Hermione stilled and frowned up at him. She sniffed. A conjured tissue wiped her face. "My brother?"

"That red-haired ape, Ronald Weasley? At least this timeline's Hermione is full of derision. I _think_ she has her eye on a certain fellow Slytherin."

His wife shuddered. "Poor addled witch."

"Well, there is only _one_ of me."

"And you're _mine_ , Master Snape."

"I don't contest it." He shook his head. "You bound me so tight with marriage spells I squeak when I walk."

Hermione's bark of laughter warmed around his heart. "I did, indeed." She stretched up and pecked a light kiss from his lips. "Ron was…limited availability under stressful conditions. But," her smile softened, "at least Harry seemed happy. A sister for him."

"You're a one woman population explosion."

She smirked. "You've had more than your hand in one or two…or six."

Severus froze. No…no. His heart was a stone in his chest. "You're…?"

"The healer did the test this morning, which was why I was late."

 _Late_. His gaze swept over her, cataloguing her expression, her posture. She was happy. Unworried. Fine. It was fine. His heart started beating again. He expelled a slow breath. "It's…?"

"It's twins."

"Merlin's wormy kidneys!" His backside hit a chair his – _pregnant with twins_ — wife conjured. "Witch, are you competing with Nora Moody?"

She lifted an eyebrow and smirked at him…and looked more like him than he did. "And if I was…?"

"Now who's the addled witch?" But he drew her to him, his face pressed to the warmth of her breasts and sighed. Her familiar scent wrapped around him, sweet smelling skin with hints of jasmine and vanilla and the notes of India ink and silk. She kissed his hair and he couldn't help the grin that escaped him. He was the most fortunate wizard. Something he would never have been without the witch who was more than happy to carry yet _more_ of his children.

"Girls again?"

His tone was deliberately glib and he got a deserved thump on the shoulder for it.

"Yes."

" _Definitely_ competing with Nora Moody."

Hermione laughed, a low and rich and happy sound. One he treasured.

Yes, _all_ was well with his world.


End file.
